Enter CRUMMY, L. D. F.
CRUM. (advancing to MOUSER, C., and giving him a slap on the back) Ah, Mouser, my boy—sure to find you at home, eh? Ha, ha! Always together, eh? Billing and cooing, and all that sort of thing, eh? (giving MOUSER a poke in the side) By-the-bye, I’ve just come from Mrs. Major-General Jones. She would have nothing to say to me. She insists on seeing the head of the firm, so I told you’d be with her in a quarter of an hour.
MOUS. (R.) Did you? Then you had better go back to Mrs. Jones, and tell her that I shan’t do anything of the sort.
CRUM. (C.) But you must. Her’s is a very important case. Neither more nor less than a separation from her husband, Major-General Jones.
MOUS. I’ll have nothing to do with it. Major-General Jones has never offended me—what right, then, have I to stand between Major-General Jones and Mrs. Major-General Jones, and say to Major-General Jones, “Major-General Jones, take a last look at Mrs. Major-General Jones, for you’ll never set your eyes on Mrs. Major-General Jones again?” It’s absurd!
CRUM. But he ill-treats her—games, drinks, squanders her fortune—and, they do say, is not particular as to the number of his attachments.
MOUS. (with a look of horror) ’Stasy, can such things be? (drags off his dressing gown, which he throws into CRUMMY’S face, who places it on back of chair, R. of table.) My coat—my hat—my blue bag—quick! (CRUMMY exits into office, R. D. F.) Oh, the monster! But I’ll hold him up to the execration of mankind. “Not particular as to the number of his attachments!” Gracious goodness! And to think that such a man is able to walk the streets without a policeman on each side of him. (CRUMMY returns with hat, coat, and blue bag) But, as I said before, I’ll expose him! (in his excitement he puts on the dressing gown again—puts on CRUMMY’S hat, and takes CRUMMY’S umbrella from table) I shan’t be long, my ’Stasia. I shall soon return on the wings of love—— (going)
MRS. M. (L., detaining him) You’re surely not going out in your dressing gown?
MOUS. Eh? yes—it is my dressing gown, I declare. On second thoughts, I really don’t see why I should interfere between these Joneses. (places hat and umbrella on the table) I’d rather by half stop with you, my ’Stasy.
CRUM. Nonsense. You must go. Mrs. Major-General Jones expects you. (taking hold of one of the sleeves of the dressing gown)